Hey,
you! Yeah, you, holdin' on to your booze like there's no tomorrow!
Closing time, haul your ass out of my bar. You've been here for two
friggin' days; haven't you heard of showers?

"Depressed"?
You're depressed? Hell if I care.

Listen,
jackass. I used to know a guy like you back in the day, when we were
scavanging junk to build generators. Those days, we couldn't step
outside a bunker without some idiot gettin' himself shot.

We
had this kid on our team, real piece of work. His mother got knocked
up one night when she was too drunk to notice. So the kid kept
whining 'bout how hard it was without his daddy and how his mother-
who was a grade A lunatic, by the way- kept tryin' to off herself.

Most
depressive kid I'd ever met. He'd just walk into a room and sap all
the joy out of people. He was an emotional black hole, y'know? But he
was troubled and, hell, we were trying to cheer him up because he
deffinitely had some issues and we were afraid he'd do something
stupid.

Anyway,
one day, he steps on a landmine. Kablooey, Gothboy dies. He gets his
whiny ass blown to smithereens. But, hell, he's not around to depress
us, so we were really much happier without him.

The
moral of the story is- watch out for landmines.

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